The true horror of Beacon
by FiddlerTheClown
Summary: Naruto has changed, no longer shall he be the hated idiot no, he shall be a feared legend known as... 'the janitor? really? Well with some help from the voices inside his head he'll act like a complete loony and scare the shit out of people, I guess. Hopefully something interesting happens. Rated M for swearing, violence, insanity and verbal murder of the major third degree.
1. The true horror of Beacon vii ch1

**Hello there my lovelies, FiddlerTheClown is here once again to deliver a message concerning this 'story' I happen to find myself writing. First of all however I would like to recommend two fanfictions. First of all; New World Blues by**_** Doppelganger312 **_**(probably one of my favorite fanfictions of all time, **_**ever**_**) and A Beacon in the Night by a close, personal friend of mine **_**Kaeni.**_**(He's actually won writing awards so he's more than qualified.)**

**Anyway, after a few months of writing I have enjoyed myself immensely, your support has inspired me to try harder than I would usually be required to do so. Not because of the pressure inflicted upon me by the teachers, parents, friends et cetera et cetera that plague my day to day existence but because I actually want to post another chapter to appease you.**

**You could almost call it greed, in some form or another I work harder just so I can receive praise from the few people who read this story. I don't receive money or any kind of actual reward for doing this but, and it does not happen often, I am filled with pride for something I have created (even if it does happen to be the bastardised version of an actual published story)**

**And so, to cut to the chase, after a few weeks of reading and rereading and rereading again the few chapters I have written I have come to a conclusion. It's absolute shit. I am going to rewrite this story **_**properly,**_** so that you can enjoy a thought out story and not some random ideas which transferred from my head to the laptop that was full of potholes and inconsistencies. Thank you and as usual feel free to leave any questions in the review section and/or pm me. Onto Chapter 1! (again)**

The silence was palpable, like a blanket had been thrown over the room. It was broken occasionally by the sound of metal scraping against metal, the horrible sound screeching against the ears of the room's occupants.

It emanated from on the corners, coincidently the only part of the room which wasn't lightened by the pale luminescent bulbs dangling from the ceiling. It seemed as though even the light itself shied away from the menace which happened to stir in that patch of darkness.

It was the tell-tale noise of a knife being sharpened, they knew that, but in the world of a shinobi where kunai were as cheap as dirt it was rare for someone to keep one knife, let alone use it continuously to the point where it was required to sharpen it, and it unnerved them; but they were professionals, the best, the ANBU. They could face the devil himself without so much as a twitch, they would be able to put up with it. Well most of them were, there were a few recruits present and for them the scraping couldn't have been louder. But they continued to check their equipment, strapping down swords of various kinds and loading various shuriken and kunai into the pouches hanging just under the long dark cloaks that adorned them.

An eternity was seemingly fit into those ten long, drawn out minutes as the mysterious figure kept scraping his knife and the ANBU kept loading various items. But even eternity must come to an end at some point in time. That point in time had seemingly been brought forth upon them, its arrival heralded by the appearance of another masked, black-robed figure; entirely indistinguishable from the others but they were seemingly aware of the difference albeit from the slightly different patterns that adorned his mask or even from the very way in which he carried himself.

The trade-mark rustling of leaves, a common variation of the shunshin, was the only sign that he had even arrived in the room at all. If it was possible the tense atmosphere, created from the dark silhouette in the corner, increased tenfold. This new figure demanded respect and respect it would receive, though respect born from fear or respect created from respect itself was not known to them.

"The orders came in; we've got the green light. This is your initiation ladies and lethal force is more than recommended." The grin was almost visible through his mask, the bloodlust was oozing from his voice. "Just don't let me see any of you chickening out. Or you'll **wish **the enemy had captured you by the time I'm through with you."

Yep, definitely respect born from fear.

* * *

They moved quick, blending in with the shadows as they went. No one knew they were there and if it went as planned nobody would know they had ever been.

The apparent leader was at the front, the rest of them were littered around behind in a seemingly unconnected pattern save for the lone figure trailing behind them. But they were all travelling equally fast, a synchronised contingent moving rapidly forward.

Under the pale moonlight the darkness still seemed to cling to the man but it was beaten off enough to catch fleeting glimpses of the frayed, black and white coat tails hanging limply around his ankles and the occasional glimpse of long, limp hair being swayed by the wind.

Although he trailed behind the rest it was not from a lack of speed, far from it. The reason was as unknown to the rest of the squad as it was unknown to him, for reasons he couldn't care to remember his brain had somehow convinced his body that remaining slightly behind the group was a good idea. He hadn't been in the mood to have another argument with his brain so he had rolled with it.

They had been travelling for a while when they slowed down, grinding to a stop. Which is never really a good sign, especially when you notice your commander looking around at something that you can't see. This was the thought flitting through the heads of most of the recruits as they looked around, desperately trying to see whatever it was that had caused them to stop in the first place, almost selfishly looking for something to ease their tension.

But their nervousness was well founded, it seemed as though the group they had been tracking had found them first.

"Scatter"

It was almost a whisper carried through the clearing but for the squad of veterans it could not have been louder and so, as is usual when commanded, they obeyed. They darted away into the surrounding vegetation while they had the chance, not waiting to question their leader as to why he had uttered it in the first place.

As for the recruits that either hadn't heard him or had remained to question his orders, well, there death was quick if that's any consolation. They had barely even had the chance to register surprise before their skin had shrunk and blistered before cracking entirely, an understandable consequence when the human body is presented with heat in excess of a thousand degrees.

But that had been a mistake, a miscalculation so to speak on behalf of the fire spewing shinobi to actually fire off his jutsu (mind the pun) so early into the fight. A mistake he would pay for with his life and the remaining ANBU were not going to be cheated out of a free kill after such a brass display stupidity,

He collapsed almost instantly, numerous shuriken and kunai alike jutting out of his body as he pitched forward off the branch he had been balanced on.

As his body hit the forest floor a switch was seemingly flicked as shinobi from either side erupted out of the undergrowth, chaos ensued as small battles burst into life. Each man dancing his elegant dance of death to an imaginary tune, each step placed to an imaginary beat, each swing swung to a different tempo. And death feasted on those whose dance was inadequate, his sharp teeth digging into any and all who were bested, his great stomach consuming all but the best.

It continued, quite contradictory to earlier, as the long period of time was gobbled up and compressed by the natural wonder of adrenaline. The battles which should have spanned decades, such was their might, were squished into the blink of an eye. And as was taught to them by their sensei's and their sensei's before them they swiftly moved onto the next opponent after the previous one was dispatched. Not a tear was shed for the cold unmoving corpses, hidden beneath the muck. No guilt was felt for the possible orphans or widows they left behind in their wake, they had been taught by violence and so violence was all they knew.

The original squadron of ten ANBU had been diminished to a much smaller group of four, admittedly it had been an initiation of sorts for the new recruits but, alas, the small complication of their untimely ambush had ridden the small remainder of all but one of them. It was not that they were unskilled; they were of a much higher calibre than the opposing forces but it was a matter of brawn over brain. They were heavily outnumbered and even the ANBU had limits.

The battle continued.

Three out of the remaining four were bunched together, their backs facing each other as they stood in the middle of a clearing they had somehow found themselves stranded in. The clearing was littered with bodies as the enemy kept falling to the well-timed swings of the squad, but the flow was never stemmed as more and more and more poured out like cockroaches from beneath the woodwork.

Regardless they kept swinging, continuing to relentlessly cut them down. If they wished for death so fruitlessly was it not kind of the ANBU to give to them what they apparently longed for?

But they were tiring and as was taught to them; if your sword can cut down your foe then why waste chakra? And the option of close-quarters combat was seemingly slipping out of their grasp as their tired muscles started to protest.

Pretty soon they would have to start dipping into the chakra stored below their skin and soon after that they would be too exhausted to move let alone fight the apparent army that was expected of them. At that point the battle would be lost, they knew it and so did whoever was behind the attack.

But they continued to fight, running wasn't option and they had been robbed of any and all other possibilities by the brash decision of their captain to face the horde. What choice did they have

* * *

Death had come, it had not struck but it was as if it could sense the events that were about to happen. It was seemingly not as present while the cannon-fodder was being slaughtered, that was just for starters but _now... _now it was ready for the main course. It was waiting just out of sight, it clung to them like a disease; they were marked for death and they knew it.

One more had fallen leaving only the captain and his subordinate, Neko, left in the clearing. They were now out of chakra, out of shuriken but most importantly they were out of time.

As the enemy closed in around them the captain, still hungry for flesh, had resorted to ripping out the jugular of his opponents with his teeth alone. His arms may have been broken but his jaw still worked. Nasty _and_ brutal, now that was deadly combination.

Neko, on the other hand, had resorted to a much more feral style of combat compared to the previous elegance that had flowed before her sword had been cast away. She had wedged the broken tips of kunai between her fingers and had entered a pseudo-boxing stance, every punch spraying blood and flesh; ripping chunks out of any unlucky soul stupid enough to get to close to her.

But it seemed it was not enough. One of the actual shinobi waiting at the back saw an opening, an opening he was more than obliged to exploit.

"Fire Style: Great Fireball" he exclaimed. His lungs expanded rapidly as the fire nature chakra mixed rapidly with the carbon dioxide and oxygen being sucked in. His body separating the oxygen and quickly creating a spark, small enough to avoid damaging the body but at the same time potent enough to create a flame fuelled by the oxygen. Adding liberal amounts of chakra and at the same time breathing out he channelled the flame out from his lungs.

All of this translated into the fireball being rapidly expelled from his mouth, well... it would have been if not for the small problem of his face no longer being attached to his head. A small inconvenience for a shinobi, right?

It seems that this particular shinobi had left his med-kit at home that day because, let's be honest, judging from the fact that his brain was splattered all over the floor he wasn't going to be getting up any time soon. Unless Jesus paid him a visit, he can cure the dead can't he? I can't remember. Didn't he turn water into wine or something? Oh shit, back to the story.

It seemed like the third remaining survivor had decided to drop by.

It wasn't quiet and yet it wasn't being exclaimed either. A dry, raspy monotone would be the best way to describe it as it echoed throughout the clearing.

"Please my children, patience. There's enough death to go around, if you would be so kind as to form an orderly line then I would be more than happy to stamp your faculty identification cards. Now ...who wants the **STUDENT DISCOUNT!?**"

It was an odd thing, the words themselves were not frightening in the slightest, they could almost be described as unintelligible gibberish. But it was more of a primal terror as it rose to a crescendo like a great wave crashing into the mob, rolling among them, spreading fear and confusion. As they frantically looked around, trying to find the source of the voice it continued to speak, seemingly unaware of the panic he had caused. "Oh? You're all volunteering? How excellent."

"RAZOR STYLE: DEATH OF THE FOREST"

This time there was no question whether he had said it or not, it was a guttural cry pledging untold pain and misery.

And pain and misery it brought.

* * *

The table shook, struggling in vain to keep its internal structure secure. I tell you, the poor tables have it hard these days.

But it lost its fight to remain in one piece as it splintered, crushed by the hands of a furious Tsunade; not a pleasant way to go.

"What the hell is this?!"

The ANBU captain stood stoically, his hands clasped behind his back. "That is the mission report from ANBU operation 1352 stamped and checked by your secretary." He replied.

"Look, we've been through this already. You know what the piece of paper in your hand is and what it entails. I know you've read it and you may not want to believe it but what you believe isn't really of my concern. I may not be the most _controlled_ of ANBU captains but we both know that my record is spotless; I would not lie to the hokage." He continued, sick and tired of her sustained disbelief.

But the poor women still couldn't believe it. She beckoned him over as she started to drag her eyes over the report once again.

"Explain one more time what happened, in your own words."

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted"

"We had been tracking this group from Oto and when we finally managed to track them down they had already called for reinforcements. We were ambushed and lost three recruits in the initial attack..." he was interrupted by Tsunade impatiently waving her hand at him.

"Yes, yes I know all that skip to where just you and Neko were left" she replied with a blood vessel practically popping from her forehead, she knew he was just being an asshole on purpose.

"Make your mind up ma'am, I'm quite busy actually." It didn't take an idiot to sense the smugness oozing from his voice.

This time he actually did cower in fear as she raised her fist at him, he was no stranger to the screams of pain from the ever gallant 'Toad Sage' being flung through a wall at mach 3.

"Fine, fine. As I was saying Neko and I were stuck in the clearing as the rest of the squad had been declared KIA, except for Edgar obviously. Anyway, we were both unarmed and our chakra reserves were pretty much depleted when this cold, raspy voice rang out through the clearing saying... well I can't remember exactly what he said and I know it didn't make any fucking sense but it was fucking terrifying. I think it's written down in the report anyway." He paused, looking over at her for confirmation that he had actually written it down properly. She skimmed through the paper briefly before giving him a nod, not that reading it again actually assisted her in making any sense of it.

"So he shouts out the name of a technique; Razor Style: Death of the Forest or something?" once again he looked over to see Tsunade nodding her head. But once again neither of them had any idea what it was, they couldn't place the name.

"And just like that..." he snapped his fingers "about forty trained mercenaries dead in less than a second, I haven't seen anything like that since the Yondaime."

Tsunade interrupted quickly "You weren't very specific in your report, could you describe the technique?"

"Yeah, no problem, I'm not gonna forget it any time soon. As soon as he said, no, screamed out the name hundreds of shallow cuts formed in the ground; ripping out chunks of grass. They appeared to be wires coming out of the soil before all I could see was red, I quickly realised that it was blood. After I wiped my eyes clean... how do I describe it? It was like the thickest bamboo forest you could imagine except instead of bamboo there were hundreds of wires standing rigid, and speared on the wires were the bodies of the forty men, almost all of them missing body-parts. Legs, arms and even a few heads were equally sliced up, hanging alongside the corpses. The grass was literally painted red." He paused, almost as if he was recollecting his memories.

"He hopped down from a nearby branch, landing nimbly on the ground. He walked over to where Neko was heaving here guts out and rubbed her back softly while also laughing hysterically; it was unnerving to say the least. After congratulating him on a job well done I remembered that I hadn't seen him during the rest of the skirmish that had taken place after the ambush, after questioning him on it he gestured for me to follow him while Neko stayed behind to set up camp for the night. He took me to the part of the forest where we had first been ambushed and shown me that there had actually been Oto camp not 50 feet away."

Tsunade interrupted him once again. "Are you telling me that you faced an ambush head on even though there was an unidentified camp so close to your position? They could have easily been hostile and in this case they were!"

"I admit that it might have been a slight lapse of concentration" he let out a sigh at the derisive snort she sent his way "_Fine,_ I fucked up. Anyway he showed me the camp... well, what was left of it. The whole place had been burned to the ground and there were at least 20 Oto shinobi and even 10 hostages crucified from trees, strung up with wire. The rest were all thrown in a pile down by the river, it appeared as though the blood had been sucked out of them, their skin was grey and wrinkled and they looked far older than they should have. You know the rest from there, we burnt the bodies, camped the night and then arrived back here at dawn."

Tsunade leaned back in her chair as she dropped the report back onto the table, it just didn't make any sense. "What was the name of the ANBU again?"

"I remember he called himself 'Edgar' and his mask resembled that of a cow's hide. I'm pretty sure he had also managed to find a tin of white paint and had applied the same cow like design to his ANBU cloak as well. I recall finding him, in the morning, in a hole he must have dug himself making cow noises. He was one of the recruits, surprisingly enough but really? A fucking cow?"

Tsunade wanted an opinion on this and although she didn't like it she knew she had to tell him. "Listen up, what I'm about to tell you has been declared an S rank village secret."

He stood a little straighter, S rank secret's were no joke and quite frankly he didn't feel like being executed.

"The identity of ANBU operative 489, codename 'Edgar' is our native Jinchuriki; Naruto Uzumaki."

The ANBU captain's posture slackened as his hands dropped to his sides in shock. "I'm sorry but what?! You're saying possibly the worst shinobi I've ever seen who probably couldn't even throw a kunai straight is probably one of the most promising ANBU recruits since Itachi?! How the hell did that happen?" he demanded.

Tsunade just put her hands to her face and let out a long, tired sigh. "I don't know, I really don't. Jiriya and I thought it would be a good idea to see how much he had improved during their training trip, so I decided sending him out as an ANBU recruit would be a good idea. But I couldn't ever have expected this would be the outcome. I've already talked about this with Jiriya and I know for a fact that Naruto couldn't possibly have possessed the skills which he demonstrated."

The ABNU commander couldn't come up with any viable possibility as to how this had happened, he tried none the less. "He's the jinchuriki of the Kyuubi isn't he?" he said, almost to himself. He looked up however when he heard Tsunade snapping her fingers.

"That idiot Jiriya said something about loosening the seal early into the trip, maybe the Kyuubi is starting to take control."

"I think you might be correct, in his mission report all that was written was 'I don't remember' that ties in with your idea. What are you going to do? Will you confront him?"

"No, I don't want him to panic. I'll send him and Jiriya off again, maybe he can fix the seal. Dismissed"

The ANBU nodded and disappeared from the office.

* * *

"But pervy-ssaaaaagggeeee we only just got back, why do we have to leave already?" called out possibly one of the most of irritating voices of all time whined out.

"Oh shut-up, we'll only be going for a few days. Besides if your quiet I'll teach you a super cool new jutsu." He feigned a smile at Naruto but he knew it wouldn't be a happy trip, if what Tsunade said was true than he'd have to confront the Kyuubi personally, which was not something he was looking forward to at all.

"Oh by the way Naruto, how was the ANBU recruitment mission we signed you up for?" he questioned, looking for any hints.

"Oh it was really cool!" he said, excited that he had been given the chance to go with the ANBU. But he looked down all of a sudden "Well I kinda got knocked out at the start of the fight, I don't actually remember anything."

Jiriya shook his head "Don't worry kid, it happens to the best of us." Inside he was going over what Tsunade had told him, so far she was right.

Regardless he continued on with his preparations for the trip as he sped through the hand-seals required for summoning.

"Kuchiyose-no-jutsu!"

The rune like symbols spread as a medium sized toad poofed into existence. Naruto looked down at the toad with a wave "Hey Gamakichi, how's it going?" Naruto asked happily.

Jiriya interrupted quickly "Don't worry about that Naruto, there'll be plenty of time for pleasantries where we're going. Gama reverse-summon us to Mt. Myuboku please."

"No problemo, oh by the way Naruto; your name kinda disappeared from our copy of the scroll of summoning, no biggie though I'm sure pops'll sort it out when we get there." Gamakichi said, his hands already moving towards the ground to begin the summoning.

Jiriya's eyes bulged comically for a second before he reached forward desperately trying to stop the toad, neither of them noticing Naruto's maniacal smile as Gamakichi's hands touched the floor and they all disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Why was he so happy you might ask? Well let me tell you something, Mt. Myuboku is a pretty secluded place right? Well that's because the toads of old, back during the first Great Shinobi War when attack squads were sent out to target summoning grounds, decided that their heavily guarded mountain situated in the middle of nowhere wasn't safe enough and had carved seals into the base of the mountain. This prevented all but summoners and the summons themselves the permission to enter.

How did this affect Naruto? He was a summoner, wasn't he? Wrong. Unknown to the toads and Jiriya himself Naruto had terminated his contract. So know, as Gamakichi and Jiriya appeared on Mt. Myuboku relatively unharmed, aside from the severe mental strain that Jiriya was about to undergo. Naruto on the other hand was being thrown rapidly through space and time as he was deflected off of the seal barrier.

Who knew where he could end up? Well we do, and if you don't then I'm going to be severely disappointed in you, not angry; just disappointed.

**Well there you have it, THE REWRITE OF DOOM BEGGINS! Seriously though, I did start this fanfic as joke and it was becoming hard to continue on the track I wanted to with the poor start I had given myself. So I will start again, this time no Naruto being ridiculously smart at 6 years old (What was I thinking? Thanks to **_**icecold1039 **_**for pointing it out) No stupid gimmicks like me throwing in characters from other series for no apparent reason. And I'm not just going to copy the cliché of Naruto being a teacher/student and copy and paste the cannon RBWY.**

**Also I'm going to scrap all pairings for now; I get the feeling that romance is going to be last on the agenda concerning this fic. I might have an idea for some sort of pairing later but it's an improbability based upon an uncertainty. (If you know where that comes from than you win the internet, no joke)**

**Thanks to all of those that have stuck with me this far and as always feel free to tell me what you think of the rewrite; good? bad? Want to gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon while you scream at me for desecrating Masashi-kun's holiness? That's what the review section's for.**

**FiddlerTheClown, signing out. **


	2. I wonder what trees taste like?

**Here we are once again mister internet, back to do what we do best. I am here to type the next instalment of this web series that for some reason my sick and demented mind decided to create out of the necessity that I needed something to occupy my time besides watching anime, xbox and sleeping. You are here, on the other hand, because of reasons entirely unknown to me at this present moment in time.**

**There are many possibilities but I, in the mean time, will steam-roll completely over your motives and continue to be blissfully ignorant as to the numbers that make up the view count on this story.**

**What I'm trying say is that I have no idea why people like this story and that while I greatly appreciate everyone that has reviewed so far, I feel as if I could further my own writing skill greatly if you could leave some criticism. Any criticism **_**at all**_**.**

**You'd be surprised but I take flames just as seriously as any other type of review. You hate this story? I'm not gonna give you some BS about how you should leave if you don't like it. Quite the contrary in fact, I would like you to express as much anger and hatred as you wish because that means that I am actually doing something wrong.**

**Now that I'm finished making the word count bigge... **_***ahem***_**... I mean now that I'm finished delivering an important message it's time for the next chapter.**

* * *

_And those who were seen dancing_

_were thought to be insane_

_by those_

_who could not hear the music._

_-Friedrich Nietzsche_

"What the hell do you want?!" the cry cut through the silence, tearing it asunder to make way for the terror it contained.

As if the silence hadn't already been silenced enough (Oh, the ironic use of words. I, truly, am a poet) it was beaten into the proverbial corner further by the reply. Even though the voice wasn't as loud as the first, the presence it carried itself in differed immensely.

"What I want and what I need are two completely things my good man. And now that I've said a completely random sentence that doesn't apply at all I would greatly appreciate it you gave me that cocaine because I _really_ want it."

The raspy voice sent shivers up the man's spine, the dry cracking of leaves was the closest thing he could compare. Whether the man couldn't come up with a more accurate comparison because of his own incompetence, the writer's laziness or the knife poised at his throat I don't really know.

Regardless the poor man continued on "I... I don't know what you're talking about." He stuttered, even though having 3-4 full stops between words is a clear sign of a liar (when will they ever learn?)

"Oh don't be like that, we could get along like the best of pals if you just told me were the nose candy is." the voice persisted **"I insist."**

The knife dug deeper into the man's neck as the fat drops of sweat desperately freed themselves of his face. He came to the conclusion that lying probably wasn't the best option anymore considering the fact that his life seemed to be slipping from his grasp more and more every second.

"Okay how about this, y... you don't seem like the kind of guy that wastes time which reminds me of myself" the knife digging deeper his neck told him that flattery would only be buying him a quicker ticket to hell. "I'll tell you where the stash is _if_... if you let me live."

The foreboding sense of the knife didn't disappear however, in fact in only seemed to increase as the figure leaned in closer.

"Oh if only you knew, my dear, you died 5 minutes ago." The hand that wasn't poised at the man's throat reached into his cloak and pulled out a vial. "This is the antidote to the slow-acting poison I injected into you 5 minutes ago, now I suggest you start talking because you only have..." he put away the vial and lifted up his sleeve to reveal the five watches set at completely different times. "46.7 seconds before the poison kicks in. And I'd recommend that you don't let that happen, I was told by the homeless man I bought it off that it hurts... a lot."

The man's face paled significantly as he looked down and, sure enough, there was an empty syringe sticking out of his leg. He quickly took out his scroll and shakily handed it over. "h...here, take it just give me the antidote. The location's programmed into the gps."

He reached out tentatively took the vial from the figure's outstretched hand before quickly swallowing it whole.

The black-cloaked figure backed off, lowering his knife as he did so. He stiffened however when he saw the man's hand suddenly shoot up, a victorious smirk over taking his previously terrified expression.

"MEN! Get him." The shout rang through the seemingly empty warehouse, but to the man's shock and fright the warehouse remained empty. The figure swept out his hand as small lightning bolts arced across his outstretched hand. The powerful, industrial grade lights flickered into life, illuminating the gruesome scene as his hideous laughter rang through the building.

Previously the only illuminated part of the warehouse had been the centre where the two figures were situated, but as the dark edges and corners were illuminated it lit up the corpses that were scattered around like leaves fallen from a tree.

All of them were lying in pools of blood, the blood almost certainly belonging to them. All of them were missing limbs. Their skin was pale and their screams were locked onto their frozen faces.

"hhmmm... it seems as if you have betrayed me Horace. You haven't left me with a lot of choices and I don't think you'd enjoy any of them particularly."

This time the man knew that there wasn't going to be any more chances, he was a dead man walking. "w..what are y..you going to do to me?" he asked timidly, his hands shaking down by his sides.

"Oh don't be such a drama queen, I'm not going to kill you." The figure said, snorting in disbelief.

The man's eyes widened "y..you're not?!" he exclaimed in shock, maybe he'd make it out alive after all!

"Of course not" the man visibly relaxed as his violent shaking calmed down "the 'antidote' you drank will kill you. I, however, won't lay a finger on you"

And there goes the bombshell. The shaking returned full force, the sweat started dripping even stronger. He reached out shakily, his hand grasping weakly against the figure's mask. His hands clawing desperately, looking for some kind response.

"Wha...what was in that vial?" he whispered, not trusting his voice enough the shout.

The figure leaned in and whispered right back at him. "It was a decently drawn manga with a subpar plot and bad character development." The man recoiled in horror.

"y...y..you d..don't mean...?" he whispered in vain, already he could feel the poisonous liquid reaching his heart.

"Yes, _BLEACH_" the figure whispered back in a hushed tone as the deadly kitchen appliance started to shut down the man's kidneys and liver. The otherwise harmless liquid used for cleaning drains and toilets was being put to a much more nefarious idea. Blood started gushing out of his mouth rapidly as the remainder of his internal organs started to fail one by one.

"You still have a bit of time left. I strongly recommend pissing yourself, followed by a round of prayer to your impotent god. You may even have time to commit good old-fashioned suicide!"

He pitched backwards, his untimely demise spurred on by the haunted, mocking words that slipped from the figure in front of him. His vision swirling around as his conscience ebbed and flowed, spiralling down the proverbial plughole.

"hhmmmm... it seems as though you're after dying, what a shame. I bought so much C4 for us to enjoy together." He wept his crocodile tears as he began placing the various plastic explosives around the warehouse. "I bought this for you a...and now you're dead, you heartless bastard. How could you leave me like this Horace?"

He heaved the massive, sliding doors shut behind him as the tears slipped down his face. Some might ask how he could cry with the mask secured over his face, but the world works in mysterious ways and some questions are better left unanswered. Especially questions asked to an insane lunatic who had just blown up a warehouse with various plastic explosives, common sense really.

* * *

"A cemetery? Interesting place to hide a cache, I ain't complaining though."

He looked around at the destination the scroll had taken him to, the gps guiding his way through the busy streets of Vale and slowly receding further and further away from the bustling streets until he found himself standing around in a graveyard.

As he walked underneath the rotten, decaying arch he ran his fingers along the various tombstones. The condition was poor in general, clumps of concrete sprayed out from beneath the pavement that weeds had displaced throughout the years.

"_Tsch, tsch,_ what a disrespectful way to treat the dead. Really brings a tear to the eye, wouldn't you agree Bob?... What the hell are you talking about Bob?! I'm not digging up the bodies. I'm not in a necrophilia kind of mood today, idiot." His disturbing ramblings were almost indistinguishable from the whispers of the wind but they were present nonetheless.

A thick fog clung heavily to the ground, almost as if it was being dragged down by the weary souls of those that had been buried long ago, it clung to the headstones refusing to leave.

He turned abruptly, clicking his shoes as his hands fell neatly into place tucked in behind his back as he came to a stop directly in front of another one of the, seemingly endless, graves. "This seems to be the place, now where did I leave that shovel?" he flipped general physics the bird as he reached into his cloak and pulled out the very shovel he had mentioned previously... somehow.

And with that he went on his merry way, digging through layer after layer of dirt until his shovel clattered against a relatively hard surface. He hauled the stone casket from the, now empty, grave and popped open the lid tentatively as dust poured out and blew away in the wind.

There, in-between the ribs of long dead corpse sat the prize, nestled up in the chest cavity that the rotten flesh and bones had left behind.

He withdrew the plastic-lock bag carefully as to avoid spilling any of the (in his words) "happy happy fairy rainbow magic powder." He cradled it to his chest like an infant to a mother's bosom, gently and lovingly caressing the side of the bag. In another universe it could almost be described as adorable but the image was ruined by the realisation that he was signing lullabies to a bag of cocaine which he had murdered an entire gang to find and to then dug up a coffin and literally ripped it from the cold dead hands of some poor bastard that just happened to have his body used to store a drug stash.

Adorable indeed.

* * *

"Captain, I've got eyes on target"

"Roger that, hold your position. Do NOT approach under any circumstance, we've lost a lot of good men to this bastard already and you are not going to be one of them. Continue you to keep us updated on the situation, we're almost there."

"Yes sir, wait a second sir. I...it appears as if he's taking the cocaine now! He's just after opening the bag and he's lining up a row on his finger."

"Shit"

"That's exactly what I was thinking sir, permission to open fire?"

"Denied, I repeat, hold for as long as possible. We're on our way. Out."

* * *

His ears twitched, it wasn't much but the small _cccssshh _of static was more than enough. He quickly stowed the bag, wiped the powder off his finger and gripped the edges of his billowing cloak, seemingly disappearing into inky, misty blackness of the cemetery.

"They would attack me where my power is at its peak? Curious indeed. Maybe they aren't fully aware of how I function? Maybe they might even be arrogant enough to challenge me regardless? Oh well, they made the mistake. **Time to die, kiddies**."

* * *

"Shit!"

"What is it? Speak to me soldier"

"h..he's gone, he disappeared, shit! "

"What do you mean he's gone?! Just... just stay calm, we'll be there any second"

"r...roger that sir, I'll keep an eye out. Just come as quick as yo_aaaAGG__**GGGHHH!**__"_

The scream was cut off by the unmistakable sound of choking followed by the sound of multiple stab wounds being inflicted. The chilling noise of the, almost certain, last sounds the man would ever make cut through the radio like a hot knife through butter. (_Insert generic metaphor here_)

"shit, SHIT! Jenkins, come in! Jenkins, do you copy?!"

"Jenkins is unable to come to the phone right now; he's a bit busy having his kidneys stolen. If you would be so kind as to leave your name and phone number I'm sure he'd be more than happy to get back to you... actually... his larynx has just been removed so he probably won't be getting back to you anytime soon."

Ironwood threw his radio onto the floor of the dropship in a fit of rage. "When I get my hands around that slimy fuck I'm going to wring his GOD-DAMNED NECK!" he screamed. He rarely allowed himself to get so angry but this was a special case.

Through a great deal of visible effort he calmed down as he turned to the pilot, his hand still gripping onto the handholds as the airship cut through the night sky.

"Expected ETA?" he strained through gritted teeth.

"We're closing in on the destination now sir, ETA of 30 seconds."

James narrowed his eyes in anticipation as he quickly ran a sharp-eye over his equipment; himself and the pilot would be going in alone for this operation. His skills were mildly rusty after years of remaining behind a desk but he wasn't about risk the lives of any more men to this madman. Besides, who could stand up to the might of James Ironwood; general of the Atlas armed militant forces? Who indeed.

* * *

The blindingly powerful spotlight cut through the gloomy darkness with relative ease, swaying to and fro in an attempt to highlight the target.

James had his hand clasped firmly on the over-head rail as he leaned out of the door, looking through the haze as the aircraft veered uncertainly in the strange air currents.

Almost missing it entirely his eyes locked onto a glint of light, tucked away behind a gravestone. "There, 3 o'clock. Confirmed visual?"

There was a pause before the ship started to turn. "Confirmed visual sir, locking on now. Permission to fire?"

"Permission grante... hold off, another visual at 11 o'clock...and another at 7, shit." Multiple small glints of light were now visible on the ground, flashing irregularly as they were caught by the spotlight's glow.

"Back up, back up now!" he shouted to pilot as the airship banked sharply to the left in a desperate attempt to escape the possibilities of the lights. It was futile.

The whisper still reached them, completely ignoring the rules of physics as the relatively sparse sound-waves ripped through the roar of the twin rotors and straight into the ears of James and the pilot.

"Razor style; Death of the sky"

The strange lights surged forward ridiculously fast and started wrapping around the drop-ship. As it was pulled rapidly towards the ground James had time to note that the pilot, along with the cockpit itself was being torn up in little strips. He pushed himself out of the rapidly descending ship in a desperate attempt soften the landing.

The previously darkened sky was light up in an explosive flash as the fuel tank was ignited from the friction, deadly shards of ignited metal ripped through the air as James rolled to a dead stop against another faceless headstone.

As his eyes were reacquainted with his vision as the dizzying sway slowly stopped.

He quickly ducked his head down when he realised that the headstones around were being ripped apart by the shrapnel, gravel and metal being sprayed everywhere.

When the chaos subsided he rose to his feet without hesitation, dusting off his suit as he went.

"Is that the best you have to offer? If that limits the extent of your capabilities than it appears to have been a waste of time for me to even coming here."

His confident voice boomed through the cemetery as he strode forward.

"If that had been the best I was capable of conjuring than rest assured your time would have ceased to be accompanied by my ramblings many a moon ago, in any case, you have only scratched the proverbial surface."

"Well come out then and face me like a man."

"Please refrain from insulting me by insinuating such nonsense."

"Oh? You are insulted by the implication that you're a coward? You are weak in mind."

"Hardly, I was merely insulted by being compared to such pitiful creatures. That you believe being recklessly brave makes you more of a man is just as insulting to your image as that ridiculous haircut."

James' eyes narrowed dangerously. "Enough of the small talk Edgar; fight me or die."

"Fight me or die? I choose option C, none of the above. Wait a second, can I phone a friend?"

"What? No you cannot phone a fucking friend you moron, don't you understand you could die toda... you're doing it anyway, aren't you?"

"Hello? Is that Clive? Hi buddy, it'll only take a second but I wanted to ask a question... what do you mean 'leave me alone'? Listen dude, I _know _I broke your legs and I _know_ I put you out of business but look on the bright-side; I had a really nice sandwich today. No, no, no, don't hang up, I only wanted to ask a simple question... No I did not ruin your life... I think you're just being selfish..." The phone exploded in his hands as a long wooden spear retracted and morphed back into Ironwoods hand.

"I've had enough of your shit Edgar!" the general cried before charging him.

The now identified Edgar watched as Ironwood ran at him, the already weak gravel crumbling under his powerful strides. _"He seems to manipulate wood to a certain degree, maybe the universe has similar connections to the previous one? Maybe Hashirama himself came through years ago and this 'James Ironwood' harnessed his power? Approach with caution, unknown levels of strength." _He straightened up as he finished his conclusion and prepared to meet the charge.

Once again Ironwood's hands morphed into long wooden spears as he flew towards the figure. Edgar held for as long as possible for leaping quickly to the side, and as Ironwood over-extended himself he ducked low and made to strike his lower ribs.

He tensed when he saw the smirk on the man's face.

"You thought it would be that easy?"

Edgar's senses screamed at him to move as another wooden spike erupted from the gravel beneath him, he rolled away barely missing the deadly skewer.

Ironwood turned to face him, his hands returning back to normal. Edgar simply stood there "You thought it would be that easy?"

His eyes narrowed behind his mask as he slowly raised his centre of gravity, drawing his height up slowly and narrowing his shoulders. He curled fingers in the universal 'come here' motion.

Ironwood charged again although this time no extra, wooden appendages could be seen.

"Taijutsu? If you were are so in need of being educated I would recommend going back to school, a fight's no place for kid like you." He hissed.

The speed of Ironwood's charge increased ever so slightly. "I may be past my prime but I'm more than capable of putting you IN YOUR PLACE!" he came in with a powerful left hook.

Edgar stood his ground as the fist came at him but when the fist came close enough his hands exploded into action, directing the extended arm to narrowly miss his head.

Ironwood let his hand be held onto as his left hand snaked underneath, heading for a shot to the ribs. His eyes widened marginally when Edgar's elbow swung down to neutralise the blow before locking his second arm in place close to his lower torso.

"You rushed in recklessly with not even a basic understanding of my fighting style; you came to the assumption, based upon my previous kills, that I was a mid- to long-range fighter, yes?" Ironwood tried desperately to release himself but it was to no avail.

"You did not think for a second that I knew even a basic stance; perhaps my level of taijutsu is uncommon in this world?" he spoke to himself, seemingly unaware of the man's desperate struggle to get free. He snapped back to attention when he heard a reply.

"You certainly seem to be more proficient in hand-to-hand." Edgar frowned down at the man. "Yes, quite. Anywho, you have gotten very close to me. I'll make you regret that, sorry for losing focus there."

As he was talking Ironwood quickly slipped out of the hold and quickly took a step back but he was not prepared for Edgar quickly stepping in again.

He threw a hasty punch in an attempt to throw the persistent attacker off of him but it lacked power due to the close range. Edgar simply let it slide off of his chest before powerfully thrusting his right fist into the man's chest.

He quickly withdrew the arm before his left fist came underneath and buried itself into his stomach. A cough escaped from the man's lips from the gut-wrenching blow, but he wasn't given any chance to recover before he felt a foot hook his own, throwing him off balance.

Edgar seemed to ghost past the man, his arm trailing behind, catching Ironwood in an impromptu clothesline. This, paired with his hooked leg, resulted in the man being thrown unceremoniously to the ground.

He landed hard on his neck but had just enough time to roll out of the way from a, potentially, lethal curb stomp.

As staggered to his feet, coughing and hacking, Edgar simply returned to his basic stance, his left arm semi extended with his right arm held close to chest.

As soon as he got his bearings Ironwood jumped back to a safe distance, seemingly wary of his opponents superior close range combat.

"Now that you're done testing the waters, I would greatly appreciate it if you stopped holding back."

Ironwood simply rolled up his sleeves "I'm surprised you noticed, but if you believe yourself to be ready than who am I to question your stupidity." He shot back.

Edgar's eyes narrowed behind his mask. "I like your foot."

Ironwood blinked in confusion "What?"

"This fight bores me, your petty small talk bores me and **you** bore me. Entertain me or I'm taking your foot."

"You're certainly arrogant, but I shall be more than happy to oblige." He did not rush in this time. He swept his hands forward extravagantly as more wooden spikes erupted from the soil and gravel, travelling at great speeds towards the figure.

"You seem to be gifted with the famed wood release, yet you squander it with such pitiful, unimaginative techniques." He said, disappointedly. He placed his hands on the ground swiftly "Earth style: Mud wall"

The explosion of soil and gravel was immediate, as the spears smashed into the wall. "Really? You couldn't even break a simple mud wa..." he was cut off when his head exploded, an unfortunate side-effect of being penetrated by a 50 caliber, high-impact rifle round. It had gone clean through the mud wall before passing straight through his head.

Ironwood raised himself up from his knee before he threw the smoking sniper back onto the ground. "You shouldn't have let me get so close to the dropship wreckage, there was an abundance of artillery there."

He strode past the crumbling wall, up beside the heavily bleeding corpse, the brain matter splattered across the ground behind him. He gave it a kick for good measure "I'm surprised he's dead so soon."

"Believe me, I've been dead a lot longer than this."

Ironwood whipped around quickly, only to shout out in pain. He looked down only to see the, previously, corpse still lying there. Only this time he had a wicked looking knife in one hand and a severed foot in the other.

"I warned you and yet you continued the bore me with you mediocre tactics and fighting skill."

Ironwood screamed in rage before thrusting his hand, which was already becoming sharp, straight down into the man's shoulder. "You brat!"

"Now, now, there's no use getting mad at a corpse." The body giggled before throwing the severed foot high into the air before going slack, dead for real this time.

It was caught by another Edgar, crouched in the shadows. Ironwood looked down furiously only to see the signature cloak and mask of Edgar seemingly melt away to reveal a perfectly regular corpse. His eyes widened when he noticed the dug up grave relatively close to them.

"You dare defile the dead?!" he shouted in rage. Edgar merely chuckled "Defiled? Oh no, he volunteered. I've got the contract right here. See?" He held up a piece of slightly crumpled paper with scrawled, messy handwriting on it.

I giv Edgar permishin to

use da dead.

Any actions he does dat is dangerus

ain't my problim.

Also any ded peeple dat are

ofendid by dis can piss off,

Edgar is scary.

Signed: Da Shinigami

"ENOUGH OF YOUR BULLSHIT, EDGAR!" he screamed out, pissed beyond measure. "Wood style: Nativity of a World of Trees!"

The ground erupted with rapidly sprouting trees as the cemetery was quickly converted into a make shift forest. He looked down, his foot actually growing back from a mixture of aura and the life giving essence of the wood release.

"Oh? You speak of disrespect towards the dead yet, in your anger, you uproot an entire cemetery." And true to his words, the cemetery had been completely obliterated. The graves weren't even visible at that point, and yet bodies were littered around, the decaying corpses awakened from their slumber.

"And I seem to be correct on my previous thesis, you have acquired the body of Hashirama Senju, along with any jutsu scroll's he happened to have on him at the time."

Although he was lost in thought, his body never stopped moving, ducking and weaving around the rapidly sprouting trees.

Ironwood took a deep breath before composing himself once again, calmly schooling his features into an expression that could have been cut from stone.

"Really? The silent treatment? I only wanted to have some fun, but two can play at that game." Just like that he melted into the shadows.

Ironwood merely grunted, apparently accepting the challenge.

* * *

"Ozpin, Ozpin!" the cry startled the man from his slumber on his office chair, his bleary face looking up from his coffee mug.

"Yes I know," he sighed "I sensed it as well. It's Ironwood isn't it?"

"Yes, we picked up his signature in an isolated cemetery on the edge of Vale city. Your course of action, sir?"

He steepled his fingers in front of his face as he thought through the possibilities. "Prep the bullhead, you and I shall have to deal with this ourselves, bring Mito's notes from the archives. I doubt we will be able to kill _him_."

"Affirmative."

* * *

Looking back over the last hour or so, Ironwood's list of regrets had increased exponentially. Number 1 on that list had been taking this madman on in the first place.

As he stood, hunched over, with his hands on his knees heaving for breath, his mind desperately tried to come up with an attack plan. But he had used every technique he had, given all he could give and he realised just how outclassed he was.

He knew his skills hadn't been used in some time but **goddamnit **was this getting ridiculous.

Aside from the fact that he couldn't even sense his opponent when being stealthy, every high level destructive technique he used didn't even come close to hitting him, every attempt of getting close up was answered with a swift, brutal hand-to-hand beat down and every military tactic in the book was casually trounced by the nonchalant, hooded figure.

Speak of the devil, the darkened silhouette stepped gracefully into the clearing, his hands casually lying in his coat pockets.

"Well now that _I've_ finished testing your defence I must say; I'm disappointed. You weren't even worth the effort of any of my actual skills."

Ironwood straightened his back and stood tall once again. "I think you're bluffing, you expect me to believe that you haven't used a single real skill? Not a chance" he snorted, on the inside though his mind was racing. _"I'm going to have to use it_, _but is it worth the draw-backs? No! I shall exterminate this menace once and for all!"_

He let out a deep breath before taking off his single glove and rolling up his sleeve. Edgar gazed down at the appendage before looking up at the man's face; one could all most sense his raised eyebrow.

"You understand that I _know_ you have Hashirama's cells implanted in you, what do you achieve by showing me this?"

The hand was wrinkled and old but the defining feature was the protruding face of Konoha's first hikage; Hashirama Senju, pale and gasping.

"I don't understand how you know who this man is but I assure you, I received more than just his wood techniques." Ironwood replied before slapped the disfigured arm with a dust crystal he pulled out of... somewhere.

It could almost be described as disturbing, watching the immobile face gobble up the crystal before his arm grew red. "Sage Mode: Activate" Strange red markings appeared under his eyes, along with a circle appearing on his forehead as well.

"Oh? You activated his sage mode as well? Interesting, well you've shown me yours so I'll show you mine." He said with a chuckle. Nevertheless he outstretched his hand, palm curled upwards.

"Sage mode gives me heightened physical strength, speed, stamina, reflexes, perception, and durability. This time you won't be getting past my defence."

Edgar merely shrugged before spreading his fingers wide. Immediately, Ironwood's head twitched to the side. He couldn't see anything but his enhanced senses were screaming out warnings. He was on the verge of jumping away when his head twitched again, this time to the left, somehow sensing danger once again.

"You forgot one thing, I know a weakness to sage mode" he said casually before his shoulders hunched and a mad cackle escaped his lips, his outstretched fingers starting to twitch once again.

By this time Ironwood was flinching rapidly as the edge of his sensory range was continually assaulted by the unknown presences' darting in and out.

His brain started to overload from the rapid influx of information that the energy around him was pushing into his head. He finally managed to jump away from the threat, but the damage had been done.

He blinked hastily, trying to clear the stars from his eyes, as blood leaked slowly from his ears. "W...what did YOU DO?!" he screamed out in anger, his head swaying around as he focused, once again, on the figure in front of him.

"Hahahahaaaarrrggghhh," his laugh slowly turned into a guttural cry "_**cheesecake.**_" He concluded, gesturing, seemingly, wildly at the kindred spirits in the air.

Ironwood slumped to his knees, he head swaying once again. "H...how is this possible?! Y...you're fucking insane!" he cried.

"I think I was dropped on my head as a child." He mused, resting his chin in his hand. "Anyway, I'm almost finished." He continued, before walking up behind the kneeling man and placing his hand on his back. With the quick symbolisation of the holy cross he continued.

"And a Shepherd I shall be, for thee my lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from thy hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out they command. So we shall flow a river forth to thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomine Patri, et fili... et spiritu scanti."

His hand tensed and Ironwood slumped to his knees as blood gurgled from his mouth and dripped from his eyes.

The last thing he laid eyes on before being embraced by the inky blackness was the ground rapidly falling towards him, or was he falling towards it? Regardless of his questions the ground met his face, accompanied by the mad cackling emanating from behind him. He couldn't turn his head enough to face the man, his energy spent.

Edgar stopped laughing, however, when he noticed Ironwood's body being carried away by a darkened figure. "Hey! What are doing with my corpse?! I earned that!" he shouted.

As he tried running after the retreating figure, though, he was suddenly stopped in mid-air before being thrown rapidly backwards.

Ozpin lifted his signature cane from the ground, his eyes narrowed. "I'd recommend you turn yourself in young man, you may have beaten General Ironwood but I assure you, to say he wasn't at the peak of physical condition would be putting it mildly. I am no pushover."

"What is this? Open mic night?" he laughed, presumably at his own poor excuse at a joke. "I doubt you have the power to stop me, and with you out of the way, there would be nobody to stop my world domina..."

_*Insert click of handcuffs*_

He slumped forward, suddenly exhausted.

"Well, shit."

**And that concludes chapter 2 my friends. Admittedly I should have finished this a lot earlier but my laziness is my most cruel enemy.**

**Anyway, as you can see from this chapter, I'm trying to differ this particular fic from the clichéd normality that continues to permeate the general air of most fanfictions these days.**

**There is no hero, no 'good-guy' to save the day. I merely wish to see the kind of interactions between my sick demented version of Naruto and the characters of the RWBY universe. And sick and demented he is. I shall go over his many conditions and such later on but you should be able to tell, from the fact he kills people for drugs, that he is a complete whack-job.**

**One thing I want to make clear, for anyone who might complain about how OC Naruto is, there is a **_**reason**_** for that. Surprisingly enough I'm not going to rely on plot convenience and/or how 'cool and mysterious' he is without a back-story. Rest assured you shall receive it, in what form I cannot tell.**

**Once again I have revealed not much of his fighting style, revealing snippets during the fight. He almost toying with Ironwood, tiring him out and moving in for the kill. As to how he bypassed sage mode? I'll explain that later.**

**One thing I can tell you is that his taijutsu is based heavily on wing chun and I, myself, have researched it quite heavily. (If Wikipedia counts as research)**

**Once again, anything I missed out, any questions or complaints. If you have any suggestions on plans for the future, I am open to suggestions. Feel free to pm me or leave a review.**

**FiddlerTheClown, signing out.**


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